Feren and Brown
by Wetstar
Summary: During the bloodbath of the 55th Hunger Games, Matt Brown killed Maria Feren, only to be killed later on in the Games. Now, five years after their deaths, two of their siblings must brave the arena.


**And the third installment of what I'm thinking of calling "The Third" chronicles(you'll understand when they're over). Anyways, sequel to At Second Glance and Not Forgotten. You should probably read At Second Glance, since it's referred to A LOT, but Not Forgotten isn't as important, though will be referenced so might be good to check out. Anyways, onto the story!**

I finish attaching the clip and smile. I've never thought of myself as astonishingly beautiful, and today really isn't the day for it, but I look good. White-blond hair, pale green eyes, pale skin. My only complaint is that I usually wind up looking colourless. Not today, though.

I'm jolted out of my thoughts by Kylie banging on the bathroom door. "Becca! Hurry up!"

I open the door and slip by my fifteen year old sister, trying not to jostle her too much. "I am. Geesh, keep your pants on!"

She scowls at me before slamming the door shut. May looks up from braiding June's hair. "You'll be alright, you know that?"

"Yeah, I know. My name's in there fifteen times. Pretty far away from seventy-seven."

May flinches as if I slapped her, and June just looks confused. I don't blame her. She was only six when it happened. I doubt that she even remembers him. And if she does, he's just the boy who spun her around the living room and called her Junebug. If she associates him with the word 'brother' I'd be surprised.

Beckham comes out of the room he shares with Connor. Quinn's the only one of us who doesn't have to share a room, ever since Matt... left. "You guys ready?"

"Kylie's still in the washroom, and I still need another minute or so," May replies.

"Good, cause Connor still needs time."

"Where are Mom and Dad?" I ask. "Has anyone seen them yet?"

"They're in their bedroom," May says. "Someone had better get them out. We need to leave soon."

"I'll get them." I head down the hall to my parents' room.

The door's only open a crack and I'm just raising my hand to knock when I hear a slight whimpering coming from inside. It takes me a minute to recognize it as crying. I place my ear next to the crack and listen to Dad's soft voice reassuring Mom as she cries.

"They'll be alright, Lydia. They're not Matt. He just had his name in there too many times. That's all."

"But they have their names in there a lot too," she says, sniffling.

"But not as many times. It won't be them. We won't lose another child."

Figuring that this would probably be a good time to stop eavesdropping and alert them of my presence, I knock on the door. Dad opens it a few seconds later. "Oh, hi Becca. You guys all ready to go?"

"Just about," I respond.

"Okay. Give us a few more minutes and then we'll be out."

By the time I get back to the living room, the others are all there waiting. As I enter the room, I notice, not for the first time, how utterly similar we look to each other. Most of us have the typical Brown look- white blonde hair, pale green eyes, pale skin, tall. And if it's not that, we're still tall but have olive skin and dark eyes and hair instead. If we don't fall under either description, we're Quinn- dark hair, pale green eyes, pale skin. Other than him, we're all one of the same basic looks. We get quite a few comments about how we would be attractive if we weren't so poor. It makes me want to slap them. Money doesn't determine attractiveness. Just ask Treasa. She adores Beckham.

The seven of us sit in silence while we wait for Mom and Dad. It just shows how serious today is, if it can silence our usual endless chatter. Never before have we been so quiet before a reaping. The closest we've ever gotten to this was five years ago.

All of us except June knew how many times Matt had his name in. And we all knew he was worried, no matter how hard he tried not to show it. June could tell as well, and even though she didn't know how many times he had his name in, she held his hand the whole way to the square, telling him over and over again that it wouldn't be him. I wish she had been right. I wish I knew if she could remember it or not.

Once Mom and Dad come out of their room, we head off towards the square. Mom has an arm around June's shoulders, holding her close. I take Dad's hand as we walk. "We'll be alright, okay?"

He smiles hesitantly at me, adjusting the glasses he had to get a few months ago. It's a nervous habit of his now. "I hope so Becs. I really, really, hope so."

"Becca!" Dad and I both turn around to see Jemma running down the road towards us. She smiles apologetically at Dad. "Sorry Brandon, can I steal her for a minute?"

"Sure, go ahead. See you two in the square." Dad continues on his way, and Jemma leads me over to a nearby bench. As she sits down, I study her quietly, wondering what she's thinking of. Matt was her best friend. Does she still miss him? She has to. A friendship like that doesn't just disappear. I saw that when Ras died. Matt still missed him, even years after his Games. But does Jemma feel like that? I've never asked. It never felt like an appropriate thing to say.

Jemma pulls something out of her pocket and hands it to me. It's a necklace with an hourglass on the end of it, sand piled up at the bottom. "It stopped pouring." I don't know why I say it. Just feels like something that needs to be said. She reaches over and nudges the hourglass slightly, tipping it over in its metal frame. "Oh."

She fiddles with her ponytail, biting her lip and staring at the necklace. "I'm still not sure if I should give it to you. It's supposed to be a good luck charm, but..."

"But what?"

"It didn't really come in handy last time."

"What?"

"Last time. I gave it to Matt to use as his token."

I stare at the necklace for a minute, trying to imagine Jemma giving it to my brother the last time she saw him. Another memory comes to mind as I try to picture it. The two of them sitting in the living room, talking, the golden cage of the necklace at the base of Jemma's throat. Now that I think about it, I think that she wore it all the time. It must have been special. "He never would have taken it. Not if he knew it meant a lot to you."

She smiles slightly. "It did. And it took a lot of convincing, but he eventually took it."

"Why are you giving it to me?"

"I know it's your first year taking the tesserae. And I want you to be safe. Maybe it'll help get you through your reapings safely like it did for me. And if you _are_ picked, knock on wood," she knocks on the bench, "you could use it for your token and maybe it'll get you even further than it got Matt."

I slide the necklace over my head. "Thanks Jemma."

"No problem, Bec. Now let's get to the reaping before the Peacekeepers come after us."

* * *

I take my spot next to Treasa at the front of the seventeen year old girls section just in time. Her hair's slightly messier than it normally is. As the video starts to play, I whisper, "I take it you wished Beckham good luck?"

She elbows me in the ribs. "Be nice Brown."

I try not to laugh, since it's not the right place for it, though it's hard not to with Treasa blushing at my comment as the video loudly proclaims "A LONE WIDOW! A MOTHERLESS CHILD!" She notices and grins slightly. Good. Beck's rubbing off on her.

Amara steps up to the microphone. "Hello District Three! Are you ready for the Sixtieth Annual Hunger Games?" No one claps. With an exasperated sigh, she moves onto her next line. "Well, let's start with the girls then!"

An exaggerated plucking of the slip later, our latest tribute's name is being read out. "Diana Morrison!"

Treasa and I relax and smile at each other, relieved that we've made it through another year. The girl in front of us, meanwhile, stiffens and walks out of the group to be instantly surrounded by Peacekeepers for her walk to the stage. Amara greets her happily before walking over to the boys' ball and grabbing a slip off the top. She unfolds it and stares at the name for a minute, before reading it aloud.

"Beckham Brown!"

No.


End file.
